Why Can't I Breathe, Evil Angel
by sentbyfools
Summary: Post-Passion. Buffy/Angelus. Giles tells Buffy to do whatever it takes, and that's exactly what she's going to do. Dark!fic.


**For this prompt: **AR branching off after Innocence (anytime after, it could be after Passion if you'd like), throw in some darkness and a place where Buffy needs to make a choice between two different paths. A scene between Buffy and Joyce (or Giles) would be great too. Include the Claddagh rings.

**Title: **Why Can't I Breathe, Evil Angel

**Summary: **Post-Passion. Buffy/Angelus. Giles tells Buffy to do whatever it takes, and that's exactly what she's going to do. Dark!fic.

**Notes: **Giles is more injured than he was in Passions so there's a short hospital stay scene in this fic. It's a small detail, but I wanted to make that clear nonetheless. Title from _Evil Angel_ by Breaking Benjamin.

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><p><strong>I. <strong>

He won't look at her. Buffy doesn't blame him. It's hard enough to look at herself in the mirror. It's even harder still to live with what she's done ─ or more accurately, what she failed to do: her duty.

He lies in the hospital bed, and he looks years past his age. He's covered in bruises (_her fault)_ and bandages (_her fault_). He's as broken on the outside as she is on the inside, and it's oddly poetic.

"I ─" she starts to say, but finds she can't continue. _I'm sorry_. Sorry won't begin to cover all that he's lost just like it didn't come close to healing her own pain.

"What do you want me to do," she asks instead, voice small and plaintive.

Giles finally meets her eyes. He clasps his broken hand in her own.

"I want you to do whatever it takes, Buffy. Whatever it takes."

Buffy looks into his hurt eyes and thinks, _I can do that._

* * *

><p><strong>II. <strong>

Buffy searches Angelus out. It doesn't take her too long to find him. He doesn't exactly hide from her, and she's certain it's because he's more amused at the intensity of her search.

He's lounging in the garden of the mansion when she goes to find him. It's after sunset, but the garden is well lit by moonlight. She can see clearly the pleased expression on his face. She wants to wipe it off of his face so badly, but she knows she isn't ready for the final act. Beating the crap out of him would only end in her not getting what she really came for.

He walks inside the mansion. "Why are you here, lover?" he asks softly, almost _kindly_ when she follows him inside. He begins pacing around the room, his steps a nearly silent echo on the floor. He doesn't look at her as he does so; it's as if she's not even there.

The way he says lover nearly shuts her down completely though. She can't think of Angel now, but it doesn't stop her mind from remembering the way his hands felt on her, the way he smiled at her, his voice. She doesn't know how the words come out, but finally they do.

"Leave my friends and family alone, Angelus. Stop killing. If you do, I'll do whatever you want."

Angelus doesn't respond, continuing to look anywhere but at her instead. It's frustrating the way he walks around the room as if what she's said is unimportant. To him, it probably is. To Buffy, it's everything.

"There must be something you want from me."

He stops his slow pace around the room and comes to a standstill just a few feet away from her. He's just out of reaching distance and Buffy likes that ─ if things start to go south she can be gone before he can catch her. She hopes it doesn't come to that however. She wants things to go well. She wants to be able to look herself in the face and know she made the right decision.

He runs his fingers through his dark hair, and there's a slight crinkle in his brow that worries her. He can mimic Angel's expressions so perfectly ─

She's done something wrong.

Buffy tenses when he finally speaks. "That's not how this game works, lover."

The way he says lover this time, less seductive than before, more caustic, has Buffy bristling.

"This isn't a game," she says.

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, he moves, invading her personal space. Buffy doesn't take the ten steps back that she wants to; she doesn't even consider it an option. There's still room for negotiation. She isn't going to show how weak he makes her feel, not yet if she can help it.

His unnecessary breath makes his bare chest rise and fall and Buff looks up and away, focusing her gaze on his face instead. Looking at his face isn't any safer. The pain of the loss is still so fresh and will always be so long as Angelus is around. She can't mistake the look in his eyes for Angel's softness any longer though. The hardness of his gaze helps her steady her shaky breathing.

"Of course this is a game, Buffy. It's my game, and I make the rules. You don't come in here demanding things of me."

He leans down so that their gazes are on the same level, his face mere centimeters away from hers. He grins at her, and there's a maliciousness in it that almost has Buffy out the door of the mansion. _I can't leave yet, I have to do my job, _she says to herself over and over again, a calming mantra in her mind.

Killing him would be so simple right now with their chests pressed against each others; all she has to do is press the stake she holds loosely in her hand upwards and through his chest. The coolness of his breath against her face makes it complicated however.

She doesn't look away, stares back into the browns of his eyes as she waits for him to continue. She has nothing left to say. It is his game after all.

In a quick movement that Buffy can't predict, he grabs her and twists her in his arms so that her back is pressed flush against his chest. During the move, she drops her stake, and her instinct to pull away kicks in moments too late. His fangs are already at her throat when he says, voice filled with a dark glee, "No, you don't make demands of me, Buffy. You beg."

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><p><strong>III. <strong>

She's betraying his memory she knows that. What she's doing is dirty and wrong and everything she didn't used to be. Allowing the demon wearing his face to take what she gave to Angel so freely, its... She can't stop however, no matter how unclean she feels afterwards.

It's not just about protecting her friends or the people of Sunnydale, although that's a part of it. It's about needing to feel unclean ─ it's the only way she can redeem herself for what she's done, what she's planning to do. She needs this just as much Angelus tells her she does.

It's why she lets him grab her after a hunt, lets him tear her underwear off and fuck her against the grave of another unfortunate Sunnydale citizen. It's why she cries out when the stone scrapes against her back, why she claws at Angelus and digs gouges into Angelus' side that mimic her pain in him. And it's why she looks into his dead brown eyes as she does so.

It's why the feeling of teeth tearing into her throat as he comes inside her doesn't bother her at all.

"Good girl," he always says when it's done and out of all the things, that's what makes her feel the most degraded. It's why she cries in the shower afterwards, letting the hot water scourge her skin. It's what she needs to do her duty.

"Whatever it takes," Giles said, and Buffy's going to do just that.

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><p><strong>IV. <strong>

She lets it happen once, twice, more times that she can count, and then one day, it's finally enough. There's a scratch on her back deep enough that it needs a bandage, and she limps slightly when she enters the house.

The shower makes her feel better, but when she realizes she isn't crying, she knows it's time.

She gets dressed very carefully before leaving her house the next day. She arrives at the mansion, hair tied back just way Angelus likes it. Her skirt is short for easy removal, and she's wearing his favourite lingerie.

"You're looking good, Buff. I like this look on you. It's so, what's the word I'm looking for here ─ corrupted," he says.

He grabs her by the hair and yanks her backward hard enough to loosen a few strands.

"I'm glad you like," she says, the words slipping out easily. It's easy to let him drag her to his bed, hike up her skirt and fuck her without removing most of her clothes.

When they touch after, Buffy takes control. Angelus raises a brow at her, but otherwise there are no cutting remarks. Buffy wishes there were. It would make this so much easier.

Or harder, if she truly thinks about it. His silence lets her imagine it's not him beneath her but Angel instead, and she makes loves to him, imagining Angel's smiling face.

When she truly looks down at him, there's the same expression mimicked on Angelus' face, and it nearly makes her stop from the surprise of it.

She takes a shaky breath and tries not to cry as she grabs her skirt from beside her and pulls out the stake.

"Do it, lover," he says, and it's obvious he thinks she won't.

Holding it above his chest, she isn't sure she can. She wavers at the precipice of her decision, caught between the look the smile on his face and the memory of Giles' broken body.

"You're such a kidder, Buff. That's what I love about you."

_Love_ ─ he knows nothing of the word. She stabs the stake through his heart, and climbs off of him as he turns to ashes beneath her. The last expression on his face is the same smile Angel gave her the last time she saw him too.

The only thing left in his wake is the Claddagh. She picks up his ring from where it lies in his ashes. It's such a small thing, but it means so much to her. She feels the tears start to form behind her eyes. She can't afford to cry now. She's not done yet.

She leaves his ashes where they lie, the sheets as rumpled as they were. There's no way she can touch them now.

Buffy dresses quickly, ignoring the scratches and the way they chafe at her careless dressing. She shakes her hair loose; she's not dressing for him any longer.

The mansion is unusually quiet as she walks down the stairs. She half-expected Spike or Drusilla to come running, sensing Angelus' death, but perhaps they don't worship him as much as she thought. She doesn't care to know either way; Buffy's just grateful she didn't have to fight anyone tonight except her own betraying heart.

She leaves the mansion and heads into the dark streets. Her decision to leave gets easier with each step she takes. By the time she reaches her home, she's ready to go. She fingers the Claddagh in her skirt pocket before deciding to place it on the chain right next to her cross. That way it'll be as close to her heart physically as it already is in her soul.

Her bags are already packed by the time she goes to bed. Come tomorrow afternoon, she'll be ashes on the wind, and that's the way it should be. She doesn't belong here anymore and there's no way she can stay, not after today. There's too many memories.

She falls asleep, and thankfully she doesn't dream.


End file.
